Fear You Won't Fall
by Tinkerpanda
Summary: Set in AU without Priority of Life of Burn Notice. Jules has secrets, Sam's got problems and they've all got fears.
1. Fled

_This is an AU-set two-shot. It's post Day-Game but pre-rest-of-season. It's written in honour of fellow author and flashpoint fan Syuuri's graduation from her post-secondary programme! Congratulations to her on seeing all that hard work come to fruition - I'm thrilled for her. I tried my hardest to write her some fluff but it ended up being miserably bad. In the end, we settled on angst with the potential for a happy ending. _

_Disclaimer: Things I do not own: CTV, CBS, ION, Flashpoint, any of these characters, a decent pair of freaking socks, any of the twilight novels or an ipad._

* * *

><p>There is something strange and alarming about the way Sarge walks when he's got something on his mind – some piece of bad news that will blow the team wide open. The slow measured pace as he trots across the metal floor, heels of combat boots clicking rapidly against the polished linoleum. There's something about the stiff line of his shoulders, in the furrowed brow and diverted gaze – something that has Sam's nerves prickling and his spine slowly straightening.<p>

The General, in army dress, had made the same walk down white hospital halls to his waiting son to tell him what he already knew – that his baby sister Sarah really was gone. The doctors hadn't been able to save her. Or the day the report on Matt's death had closed. Sam had sat for what seemed an eternity in that hard plastic chair outside the military courtroom – waiting. Then, his father's footsteps. Calculated. Measured. Shoulders rigid, mouth flattened to a grim line. Inconclusive – the word he'd wanted to hear least. They'd never know how it was he ended up in target range – how Sam had been given the signal to fire when men in the live area.

Here it was again – that damn walk. The same one Greg had stepped into the conference room, informing them Holleran had booked trials to replace Lou. The same stiff, brisk stride as he'd walked Wordy out of HQ for the last time.

That walk never means good news.

"Something wrong, Sarge?" he asks, casually as possible. He leans against Winnie's desk, half-heartedly listening to their dispatcher field the ringing phones. Jules hasn't arrived yet. Hence the reason he's loitering around the front desk, like some neglected puppy awaiting its long-lost owner. It's ten minutes until shift starts. Meaning, in SRU time, she's twenty damned minutes late.

She's been withdrawing lately. Pulling away, tugging back. She's always been guarded – that was part of the charm of Jules. You had to battle your way in, pushing at every turn until she'd finally relent. She never needed him. Maybe that's what burned his ass so badly. The fact that she'd never lean. Never give. Never sway. And damned if he didn't feel like he needed her.

She'd done it once before – after she'd been shot. She'd slowly slunk back from him. He tried his best but he couldn't hold onto her. She'd walked. He can't face it again. He'd loved her then. But he's lost over her now. He can't stand to let her go again. He isn't sure there'd be much left of his heart if she sashayed out once more. But that was the way things seemed to be heading, surely.

"Sarge?" Spike asks, stepping up to flank him. "Are you all right?"

Greg reaches up with restless hands to push back his SRU ballcap and scratch his head. His mouth doesn't quirk in his usual greeting grin. "Briefing room in five."

"What's going on?" Spike asks, confusedly looking between Sam and Greg. Sam, not having any answers, merely shrugs.

"Spike, Ed took Raf down to the gun range. Can you go round them up?" Spike hesitates just long enough that Greg pats him on the shoulder in what might have been an attempt to comfort and assure, but to Sam, just looks like irritatingly stoic.

With Spike's boots echoing as they hurried away, Sam is left with Greg and the interminable silence. "What is it?" He asks finally.

"Sam."

This can't be good. Not when Sarge's voice is so quiet, not when he says his name in that dead calm tone.

"You can tell me. I can take it." He insists. His throats begins to close up, panic rising up from the pit of his stomach to choke him.

"Sam. This would be better in private." The empathy in Parker's eyes has Sam's heart picking up pace until it rams against his ribcage in a thundering beat.

A thought strikes him, knocking the wind from his chest. "Is it Jules? Is something wrong with Jules?" He demands.

"No." Parker answers quickly. But then he wavers. "Well. Actually. That depends. Jules. … She came to see me last night, at my place. She's resigned from the SRU effective immediately. She's got two weeks vacation and sick days coming. She's decided to take them."

Sarge didn't understand it himself.

He'd been pouring over grade 12 math homework in the kitchen with Dean. He hadn't remembered trigonometry to be so damned complicated – who the hell needed to know how to measure angles by triangle side length? Seriously? When would you ever need that knowledge? A triangle was a triangle? Who gave a rat's ass what the side length was or what the interior angles were? He'd rather face a junkie with a carving knife than stupid trigonometry. Not that he'd admit that to Dean, who seemed every bit as frustrated with the strange laws of shapes. The doorbell had rung and they'd both leapt at the opportunity to escape the exercises on that demonic little handout.

"You. Homework." Greg ordered, finger jabbing the looseleaf paper, covered in doodle-like diagrams. Dean's hopeful face fell.

Greg grinned as he strode down the hallway, content in his respite. But that wouldn't last because the moment he opened the door, he'd known something was wrong.

It was Jules on the porch. She was wearing an old RCMP sweatshirt that drooped at the hem. The sleeves were too long and had to be rolled back, lazily and cuffed at the wrist. Her hair was tugged back into a braid, wrapping down over her shoulder. But it was the eyes that concerned him, red rimmed and deeply shadowed. She looked sad – lost even.

"Jules, have you been crying?" He asked. "Are you all right?"

"I have to tell you something." She managed to say, voice barely holding. She wouldn't let it crack. No vulnerability. Can't be weak.

"What's wrong, Jules?" Greg stepped forward, to wrap an arm around her shoulders, guide her into the house. She looked cold, small shoulders slumped against the night's chills. But when he moved forward she raised her hands to ward him off, stumbling back a step.

"Don't. I just need to tell you." Jules sucked in a breath, unsteadily. She needed it off her chest – she needed to just lay it out. Something this big – there was only way to do it. Clean and totally detached – like snapping a dislocated shoulder back in place.

"I'm leaving. I need off the team."

"Jules, did something happen? Are you alright?" Worry flooded him – worry and fear. They'd worked together for seven years. He'd come to think of her as family – a de facto daughter. He wanted to know what was hurting her so he could fix it. He wanted to know what put that miserable look on her face and those horrible words in her head. "Jules, you can talk to me. I can help you. Did you have a fight with Sam?"

"No." Jules answered immediately, almost viciously. She clamped down on his arm suddenly. "You can't tell him. Please. Promise me you won't."

"Jules." He sighed her name. The confusion was overwhelming.

"Promise me." She insisted. Her grip hardened, fingers digging into his forearm.

"Okay. I won't tell him." Greg relented.

"I'm sorry, Greg. I'm so sorry. I can't stand doing this to you." She released his arm. She knuckled her weary eyes, praying to god that she wouldn't cry anymore. She couldn't afford to break down now. "I need to be gone. I've got some off time coming. Combine that with the sick days I haven't used this year, it'll come to two weeks."

"Jules. I can help you - whatever this is." Greg said. "You love your job. You love the team. Don't do this to yourself."

"I know. I'll miss it – I'll miss you all." She could feel her defenses cracking, her voice trembling. Her

"Then stay. I'll help you. Anything you need." Greg assured her.

"It's complicated. It's beyond anything you can control. I'm sorry. I wanted to say… Thank you. You've been better to me that I deserved. I wish I could find a way to do this without disappointing you."

"Jules." Greg protested. She shook her head. He swallowed the words, not knowing what to say. For a man that made his living talking people down, he couldn't for the life of him find the right words to say to her. He wanted to give her some reason to stay, some measure of comfort that might change her mind, but couldn't.

He hugged her. She fought back tears as she wrapped her arms around him, rocking under the porchlight. This family meant as much to her as her own. Leaving them would break her heart. Useless, frustrated, the leaked out, racing down her face.

"You could never disappoint me, Jules. You'll always be welcome here." He murmured in her ear.

She couldn't breathe – could barely hold back the threatening sobs. "Okay." Her voice was ragged and teary.

"Tell him …" She wasn't sure what she wanted to say to him. She loved him. She'd miss him. She was sorry. She'd never forget him. "Tell him goodbye for me?"

Greg didn't reaction – not at first. Long seconds passed before he grimly nodded.

She spun on her heel, racing off before she cracked entirely. Greg watched as her jeep disappeared around the corner, a blur of green and black, before slinking back to the kitchen. The problems on the worksheet, crisp triangles and clean squares, suddenly felt like nothing at all. They were sterile and simple, the way the real world never was.

"Sarge, that's impossible." Sam insists

"I'm afraid it's not. Jules is leaving." Greg's voice is low and quiet, as if that gentle tone could cushion the blow.

"But she loves the job. She's worked her whole life for it. She wouldn't just throw it away. She wouldn't." It simply wasn't Jules. Sam knows her. He knows her more intimately than he knows anyone else on this freaking planet. And there is no bloody way she would walk away from the SRU. Not willingly, at least.

"Sam, she was very adamant that this was what she wanted. I tried to convince her to stay, but she wouldn't hear it." Greg says. Which, he hates to admit, was the reason he was breaking his promise to her. He'd lain awake hours, stretched out over his bed, listening to the cars flick by. Heard it taper down from the heavy drum of the late traffic to a trickle of cabs to only a few restless cars meandering through the back lanes and alleys of Toronto. He'd tossed, wrestling with that burden. His mind was made up now, though. He couldn't reach Jules. But Sam was another story entirely.

"I don't understand. She's leaving the SRU? It doesn't make any sense at all." Sam rubs a hand over his forehead, pressing his fingers to his temples until the skin beneath turned white with exertion. His heart is pounding in his ears until he could scarcely hear Greg any more.

"I asked if she'd told you. She said … she asked if I would do it. She asked me to tell you goodbye for her." The word is like a knife to the gut, cutting clean through to his stomach which plummeted in free-fall.

"No." No. No. That is not good enough. That is not okay. No. He shook his head viciously.

"I can give you an hour personal." Greg offers. "And Sam?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I'd hurry."

The first time she'd broken his heart, he'd been too proud to grovel. Sam admits now, squeezing his car between two slow-moving Mack trucks, that he wasn't above it any longer. She'd stirred things up inside in – beautiful things, hopeful things. She had no right to prance out again and take that all with her. No right at all.

The speedometer urges every faster as he continues to weave along the highway, skirting around traffic. Horns around him blare, the perfect accompaniment to his black mood.

He wonders if he'd feel numb this time. Hollowed out and empty. She'd left him feeling miserable and wooden last time.

He swings his car across her driveway. To his relief, her jeep is still there, guarding the house like some kind of squat beast. Tearing the keys from the ignition he wrenches open the door, slamming it shut behind him. He storms up the steps and pounds an angry fist on her door. If he strains, he could just hear her reluctant, padded steps through the door, can see the shadow fall over the peephole. He waits.

Minutes passed. Finally the door cracks, swinging inwards. Sam grits his teeth and passes over the threshold. He hates doing this here – it feels like her terrain. Her territory. Home advantage, Jules. He needs all the leverage he could get.

The first thing he sees was the oversized suitcase, crammed to the brim, lying on its side by the door. Not a moment to soon, he thinks grimly, red haze fogging his vision. His eyes meet hers, angry blue on terrified brown. She's never seen him so furious before, anger broiling up inside him until he seems to radiate it, pulsing out in waves. She takes a step back, uneasily.

"Going somewhere, Julianna?" His voice is deadly calm.

"Sam." She licks her lips, trying to moisten her bone-dry mouth. She wants to hurt him – badly enough that he'd leave without a fight. Maybe that will make this easier. She can think of a hundred things she could say to him. He'd been a mistake, she'd found somebody new, she didn't need him, couldn't love him. The words won't come to her dusty, constricted throat. She couldn't force them up over that lump in her chest.

"Do you think you can just waltz on out of everyone's life - out of _my _life -without an explanation? Without even saying goodbye?"

"I told Greg to tell you…" She weakly protests.

"I know. Oh, I know that, Jules." Sam hisses. "He told me. I never figured you for a coward. But here you are, running away."

"Sam. Don't make this hard. It doesn't have to be this way" She tries to reason with him. He advances, she retreats. She finds herself pressed flat against the wall with nowhere to turn. He looms above her, furious and hurt. She turns her head so she would have to look in those eyes. She can stand his anger but his pain and betrayal - that was something else.

"Of course I'm going to make this fucking hard. I'm in love with you." It wasn't the way he wanted to tell her, a bitter and desperate accusation. He'd wanted to ease her into it, so maybe she'd learn to love him back. No chance now.

Tears well up. She thought she had cried all that she could. Clearly she'd been mistaken. They haze over her vision until everything blurred. She doesn't raise a hand to wipe them away.

"Sam. Don't." She pleads.

"Yeah. That's right. I love you. I've loved you from the start. You, you - always you, Jules." His thumb grazes over her flushed cheek, pushing away a tear. It's a strange and gentle contrast to his angry words. "I can't stop loving and you can't walk away. Not again, Jules. Don't do it. Don't go. Don't leave me."

"I can't do it Sam." It hurts her to say those words when his hands were upon her. To turn him away even as he tries to comfort her. She looks down, away. Anywhere but him.

"Why won't you trust me? Goddamn it. I've always been here for you. Every fucking step of the way, I've always been there. You never let yourself need anyone. Not once. I'm asking you, Jules. Need me." He cradles her face, turning her chin so their eyes met. If she was going to damned well break his heart, she is going to do it looking him in the eye.

"Sam."

"Don't ask me to let you go, Jules." He's fighting for his life here – can't she see that?

"Sam. I'm pregnant."


	2. Cornered

AN: Wow - thanks to everyone who read and commented the first chapter. And those who favourited and alerted it as well. I appreciate your' awesome response. I also wanted to add to my disclaimer: I, er, borrowed the title from the Joshua Radin song I wrote the first chapter to(/guilty conscience). I know I said that this would be a two-parter but I kind of, sort of can't fit it all in one go. So there will be a third chapter and I'll try to have it up _very,_ very soon.

* * *

><p>The words are like a slap. Icy shock rockets through him, scouring through his veins. It felt like falling he'd fallen through ice, hands clawing from beneath, lungs burning for air. His hands drop limply to his sides. His gaze falls to her stomach, flat beneath her black t-shirt. He tries to envision a baby nestled in there, somewhere deep inside her. But he can't.<p>

"You're … ?"

"Yes."

"But we always …" _use protection._

"I guess we just got a bad condom on the right day. I don't know how it happened Sam." She smiles wryly. "I'm not sorry about it though – I can't be. I've been thinking about it a lot lately - having children. I'm thirty-six years old. This might be my last chance to have a baby. So I can't be sorry for getting pregnant."

She'd gone in for her annual physical, one of the bosses' new rules, booking a lunch-hour appointment with her doctor's downtown office. The woman, Dr. Mays was a short and plump maternal looking type, likely nearing her mid fifties. White shot through her hair, scooped tidily back in a bun. She was the type that could probably herd circus over a small platoon of chicken-pox victims and think nothing of it. She exuded competence. Which was partially the reason Jules' liked her so much. She was a clear and consummate professional.

So when she'd frowned down at the charts in front of her, flipping through the pages, eyes narrowing behind her wire-rimmed glasses, Jules had begun mentally churning through the possibilities. And realization rammed through her. She was late. She was very. Very. Late.

"Ms. Callaghan, the results of your blood test show some anomalies." Mays stated. "Is there a chance that you might be pregnant?"

"I … uhm. I guess so." She answered meekly. Her head felt light and the tips of her fingers tingled. She curled them into first, urging that wishful response and the hope that fluttered in her gut to subside. It still simmered there, just below the surface. She didn't want to think of the possibility. Not when the disappointment would be so raw.

"The blood test we ran had high levels of hGC – it's a hormone produced when a fetus implants in the uterus. I'd like to run another blood test and take a urine sample to be certain, but I feel fairly confident in saying that you're expecting."

"I …" Jules couldn't speak, gaze dropping to her stomach. She raised a hand tentatively, resting it over her belly. Wow. Just wow. "Should I book an ultrasound?" She didn't know the smallest thing about babies or pregnancy. Did you get ultrasounds? Should she be taking vitamins? God, she'd had two beers at the Goose last week. Christ.

"Well that depends. When was your last period?" The doctor settled onto her stool, tapping her pen against the clipboard.

Jules searched her memory. "First week of April, I guess?"

"Seven weeks." The doctor calculated, jotting down a quick note.

"It's not unusual for me to miss one. After I was shot I didn't have one for almost four months." Jules defended herself. How had she not noticed?

The doctor merely looked down through those small wire spectacles. "Mmhm. And you're still with the SRU, Mrs. Callaghan?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"Well, normally we don't offer tests this early. Usually we perform an ultrasound at about 10 weeks, but given that your job is unusually strenuous and your age, we can push it up. The clinic has an ultrasound. If you don't mind waiting twenty minutes I can squeeze you in."

And so, within the hour, she found herself lying on the ultrasound bench, pants shimmied down to her hip bones and shirt shoved up. She examined her exposed stomach. It didn't look any different – no gentle swell. At least she didn't think so.

"Shouldn't I be bigger?" She blurted out.

Dr. Mays smiled, uncapping the bottle of gel "No. At seven weeks, it would be about the size of a blueberry. Your first pregnancy you might not start showing until the second trimester – about the 12 week more. You've got a while longer yet."

_They were going to plumb the depths of her internal organs for something the size of a berry?_ Jules thought incredulously.

The doctor squeezed a generous heap of the cool gel onto her stomach. The muscles contracted involuntarily but Mays ruthlessly marched on, pressing the flat ultrasound wand to her belly. She smeared the gel across her abdomen in clean, efficient lines.

Jules strained up on her elbows, trying to see the monitor. The numbers and letters across made out some sort of incomprehensible code. She could understand her name – J. Callaghan – but no more. Beside that: nothing. The screen was just a mass of black and white lines, shifting together in a nauseating twirl of patterns.

She glanced at Dr. Mays. Her face squinted in concentration, pressing the wand more firmly to her stomach.

"It might be too early to see anything but … Ah. Ah, there we have it." She smiled, gesturing to the tiny black pocket that had emerged on the screen. At the centre was an unmistakable, pulsing white blob.

That was it. That was the thing that made it real. Watching that blurry, hazy lump on the monitor thump and squirm, in and out of focus. She was going to have what she'd been aching for. Joy and love swamped her. For that little thing – barely even a thing at all – growing there, inside her.

She'd gotten two copies of the sonogram, without even thinking. She'd driven back to HQ, heart beating wildly out of her chest, picture pressed to the inside pocket of her coat. It was only when she threaded her jeep into her stall that reality had slammed her, harsh and bitter.

She slides a picture out of her back pocket and strokes one loving finger over the tiny being. She slowly extends it to him.

He peers down at it, without taking it. There's not head or arms or legs. No discernible, recognizable parts that he can tell. But it's there. Tiny, growing. A child.

"How long have you known?"

"Not long. A day or two." She wished he'd take the damn sonogram instead of looking at it like some alien lifeform in her hand.

"You were going to leave without telling me." His voice is horribly cold. He doesn't sound like Sam at all. She tries to reign in the regret, but it's useless. She feels miserable for keeping it from him.

"I'm sorry." She wasn't sure how many times she'd said it – how many more she'd have to. "I was trying to protect you."

"From what, Jules? Having to take some responsibility? Do you think so goddamned little of me? Do you think I didn't deserve to be a father? That our son or daughter should grow up thinking I didn't give a damn about them? Is the idea of having a baby with me that fucking awful?" He pushes away from her to pace, angrily striding across her small living room in quick steps.

"No. That wasn't the reason." She insists.

Suddenly he's the one that can't look at her. She grabs his hand, clenches it, knuckles whitening and her fingers bite into his palm. "Listen to me Sam." She begs.

"This is a career killer. I'm okay walking away from the SRU – because I've got something bigger to live for now. But if it comes out that I left because I'm pregnant – that you're the father? Sarge would be dismissed forever letting this happen. Even Ed and Spike would get called up for having turned a blind eye. Even if they didn't know they'd hang for it. And you? You'd be destroyed. I didn't want that for you. I thought if I went away, everything could stay the same for you."

"So, what, it came down to you and the baby or the job? And you decided you'd just pick for me?"

"I didn't want to ask you …" _to stay_. Her voice trailed off.

"Couldn't ask me _what _Jules? Couldn't ask me for help? Couldn't ask me to stand by you? Yeah. You couldn't possibly stand to _ask_ me for anything because you're terrified I might have said no. You're scared to need anyone because they might let you down. Because you might get hurt. So you decide you can't depend on anybody. Jules fucking Callaghan doesn't need anyone, does she?"

His chest heaves with each ragged breath. She's never seen him angrier.

"Sam, no. I do need you." She has to explain – she has to make him see.

"Do you remember what you said about Kovacs, that day at Godwin? You said that when you come back, you just want to feel something again. You'll do anything to feel anything. When you joined us, you were _dead_ inside. We could all see that. You tried so hard because you needed something to fight for. Team One brought you alive again. I didn't want to take that from you."

"Jules." He interjects.

"I'm sorry. What I did was wrong. I know that. I'm scared. I'm really, _really _scared, Sam. I just … thought I was doing the right thing."

Sam pressed his fingers to his aching temples. "I do love the job." He said slowly, after what amounted to the longest silence of Jules' life. "I'm not going to deny that. I'm not even going to deny that it saved me. I was headed to a dark place and you guys pulled me around. But this – what I could have with you? It is so much more important."

He reaches for her hand and, gripping it in hers, pressed it to her stomach. "I want this baby. I want you. I want this family."

"I do to." She murmurs. She glances down at their interlocked fingers. She wants that more than anything. They could be a normal family – the kind that doesn't have to hide behind closed door, living in stolen minutes. If they were normal they could proudly announce to their friends and family that's she expecting. She could be excited about the idea of her stomach swelling, growing with their baby. Instead it was just another terrifying sign of their deceit.

"I'll switch to another team." Sam promises. That was the solution she offered him once – one he was too stupid to take.

"No." Jules shakes her head. "I don't want you to do that. I'm not going back to the SRU." She smiles sadly.

"Why not?"

"My mother left our family when I was three months old. Never even looked back. Just walked away. None of us were as important as her freedom. I grew up with a mother and I don't want that for my own child. I was shot on the job. I nearly died. I felt that bullet tear into me and I thought it was all over for me. I can't go to work everyday and put myself in the line of fire and know that every time I do I could leave her an orphan. I want them to know that they came first. That they're the most important thing in the world and I wouldn't risk having to leave them alone."

Her hands tremble beneath his. It strikes him, for the first time, exactly how terrified she is. How utterly hopeless their situation is. Grasping at straws was too generous a term.

"It wouldn't solve our problem anyway. Toth is going to know. He's got us under a microscope. If he finds out that I'm pregnant it's all over. For the whole team." She adds softly.

"Okay, so we'll both go. Wherever you go, I go." He promises. He can't school the frustration from his voice; it's rough with anger and helplessness.

"Both of us resigning in the same week? Sam. We can't. The team can't handle training three new officers at once. Raf's still got the rookie shine. Besides – Toth would suspect something if we both took off at the same time. He'd come down on the team just as hard."

"We don't have a choice." Sam's frustration is clear.

"We always have a choice. It's just not a very easy or happy one." She smiles wistfully, pulling her hands out from beneath his.


	3. Charades

_AN: This is hugely, massively, competely and tragically overdue. Blame school, blame the holidays, blame writers block. Blame the fact that my parents' wireless made dial-up look like both efficient and reliable. I'd intended to squeeze the rest of the story out, but I've realized that this chapter is already beastly longwinded and it was really only halfway there. I know this is probably a totally strange, weird, and unexpected way to take this but I swear it's going somewhere. There's another chapter coming, just as fast as I can write it. Thanks for sticking through with me._

* * *

><p>She'd left that evening. He'd driven her to Union Station himself. The silence of the ride was complete and deafening. In it he could swear he heard his own heart breaking. He waited as she filed through the long ticket line, hanging back beneath the old sign over the gates. The destinations twirled, letters clacking as trains arrived and departed. He tried not to focus. Not on the way Jules fiddled with her necklace as she waited, fingers knotting the delicate chain. Not on the way she'd glance nervously back at him. Especially not on her lips as she told the teller her destination. It simply wasn't for him to know.<p>

He'd stood with her on the marble ramp and listened to the mechanical announcer read off lists of destinations. She clenched the orange ticket stub between long, frozen fingers. And neither of them had said a word.

One last desperate kiss. He tried to memorize the feel of her lips on his, the way her body curved against his. When his thumb brushed down her cheek, it was her tears he felt against his calloused finger.

Words hung between them.

_I'm sorry_. She seemed to say.

_Me too. _He wanted to reply.

And then she was gone, her train a grey smudge into the fading day.

The days since had crawled, slow as a summer creek under the august sun. Hours merged into days, days to weeks. He missed her every second. His hand, when he slept, curled into the space where she'd once lain beside him, seeking but not finding. Whenever a brown ponytail raced past on the street, in the parking lot, he'd glance twice. And every time he saw a woman, stomach swollen in pregnancy, his heart would stagger and he'd think of her. He wondered how she'd grown. What she'd look like, flushed and cranky, belly heavy as the child they'd made grew. He wondered if she'd been sick, as Sophie had been. He wondered if she glowed.

But no word. No texts, no e-mails, no phone calls. Nothing.

It was just as she'd said.

It didn't stop him from looking for her everywhere, around every corner.

He wasn't sure how much longer he could take it.

Sam sits in his car, watching the digital clock roll down the minutes until shift started. The job had become a series of motions for him, a choreographed rhythm. Strategies and sierra shots, day in, day out. He knows his way well enough to avoid the stumbles, but he's lost his drive. And he knows his team well enough to understand that they've seen it too.

Glancing down at the sonogram in his hand, he can only hope that today was _the _day and this fucking charade can finally die. He traces unstable fingers over that familiar outline, drawn a hundred times before, its glossy finish worn rough beneath his restless hands. They carve that familiar path along the white blur. The picture is creased, softened with wear. He keeps it tucked behind his drivers' license, away from prying eyes.

_ Today_ he chants internally, his own little mantra. _Today, today, today._ He slowly unfolds out of his seat. _Today, today, today_. Like a metronome, ticking away in his head. The rhythm is punctuated by each step he took towards those steel doors.

He weaves his way through the parking lot. The rest of the teams' cars are already there and Team Four's are slowly meandering for the exit and home, done with their overnight shift.

His stomach dropped when he passed Ed's Element and spotted Izzy's carseat strapped into the back. Sam knows that Sarge has noticed that he won't hold her. Sophie will stop by headquarters to pick Ed up for work, or Ed'll bring along the baby to their post-shift celebratory breakfast at the cheap corner diner. Or at Wordy's barbeque last week. Spike can't get enough of her, with her puffed cheeks and inquisitive fingers. But Sam will make an excuse. Some reason he shouldn't. He feels a cold coming on. He's suddenly preoccupied with the gun cage or busies his hands by stirring packet after packet of sugar into his already sweetened coffee.

He can't bring himself to hold another baby when he doesn't know how long it'll be until he sees his own.

He pushes through the doors, tromping across the floors of the foyer. Winnie, snapping instructions into her earpiece, looks frazzled and she makes a hand motion at him to wait. He's poised to ignore it, shoot her a nod and keep pace for the locker-room. But at the last step he falls short

"What is Team Three doing warming up? We're still on shift today, right?" He asks slowly. Winnie holds up a single finger again, rolling her eyes towards her mouthpiece.

_Just a sec_ she mouths at him.

His hearts beating faster now, growing in tempo to pound against his chest, a rapid tattoo against his ribs. He leans against the counter, pressing his palms against the cool surface. He bites his cheek to keep from licking his lips. No visible signs of weakness or anxiety, he schools himself.

He hears a pounding of rubber soled feet across linoleum, he swivels in time to see Spike take the turn from their locker room at full speed. His shirt is only half buttoned, and one grey pant leg hangs down over his combat shoes. The other boot isn't even tied, its laces' silver tips clacking against the floor with each step. His face is stormy. Their latest rookie, Simon Kwon, comes scrambling after him, face wrought with confusion.

"Jason is in the locker room." Spike growled.

"Well, Kyle and Troy are on the treads so he's not exactly alone." Sam raises an eyebrow in the direction of the gym where two men were furiously pumping against metal and iron, legs slashing over the rushing black ribbon of the treadmill

"What the hell is Team Three doing? They're on standby and we haven't been deployed. What the hells going on?" Spike demands. "You know what the hell is going on, Win?" She's still on the phone though, taps the receiver with her hand and rolls her eyes. The message is obvious.

"We're getting pulled." The rookie interjects. Both men stop to stare at him. He lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. "I was early. Winnie told me."

"What _precisely _did Win say, Simon?" Spike says, rounding on the newbie. Sam almost feels bad for the guy: for all the unspoken comparisons to Jules, for the teams' reservations in adopting another rookie only months after taking on Raf, for being shoved into an impossible situation. A dream chance everyone around you wished had never happened. He knew what it was like to be on the outside looking in. Four years ago he'd been the one furiously struggling to meet their standards. To make them like, trust and depend on him.

The baby-faced rookie had been scouted from the Sex Crimes division, barely four years of duty under his belt to compliment his degree in Psychology.

_Pretty fancy degree for a cop_. Raf had noted during trials as they'd watched Simon sink another bullet just left of the kill zone, tearing through the black ring around the targets' chest. But Simon had stepped up during negotiations, seamlessly and fluidly rising to the challenge. That was what they needed, after all. With Jules gone, they needed talk. They needed connection.

Simon pushed back the SRU cap, to rub his hand his jet-black hair. "Just that we're getting pulled for psych evals. Pretty last minute, if you ask me."

"Winnie say who?" Sam asks. He can register the panic in Spikes as he whirls, glancing down the hallway as if the silvery figure would appear from the depths of any of the hall's shadows.

"I think she said Toth. Somebody named Larry Toth."

* * *

><p>Slowly the team was called, one by one, into the boardroom. They'd gathered in front to wait, willing victims to the dragon's lair. Even Raf and Simon grew nervous waiting their turns; the others' gloom a contagious stain seeping from one man to the next. Time seemed to crawl as they each waited their turn. First Ed, furious and defensive. Then Spike with his twitchy, restless energy.<p>

When they were done, they were escorted out the back exit, no more than a slumped shadow as the door opened to admit Toth's next target. Larry would allow no chance for the team to prepare themselves for Toth's attack. No opportunity to route out new tactics. No time to console or comfort.

"Good luck, buddy." Simon whispers to Raf as Toth, hovering in the doorway, levels his gaze at the man. With the slightest nod of his head, the ass retreated back into the boardroom, leaving Raf to clumsily lurch to his feet.

"See you on the other end." He murmurs, reluctantly following. The doors seal shut with a hum and a flick, glass shutters cutting down through the tense air.

Sam wonders if Toth's leaving him last to torture him – let him stew, defenses slowly crumbling. It won't work. He's got too much to lose to turn back now.

"What's with this guy?" Simon asks, leaning forward. He props his head up on his chin, elbow pressing against his knee. He strokes a hand down his clean shaven cheek in what the team has come to recognize as Simon's tell-tale sign of anxiety.

"Might be more merciful not to say anything." Sam answers flatly.

"I'm already expecting the worse." Simon huffs out a breath.

"No you're not." Sam answers. "You don't even know the worst until you've been interrogated by this rat bastard."

"Nothing but words of praise for the doc, huh?" His tone drips with sarcasm.

"Last time he showed up, he started batting for cracks. Suddenly Ed's lying on the side of the highway with a hole in his arm, Wordy's got Parkinson's and Jules …" Sam pauses. "Toth's not exactly Team One's good luck charm. But we're under his probation for the year."

"Why's he back? It's been, what, eight months?"

"My guess?" Sam lifts a shoulder, lets it fall casually as he can. "Lot of changes these last few months. Wordy and Jules. You and Raf. Dynamics are shifting. He's poking for fault lines. Don't show him any."

"I'm trained. I know how to control my emotions." Simon shifts uncomfortably

"Toth's just got a way of getting under your skin. He's got killer accuracy when it comes to raw spots. He digs into things you want to keep to yourself."

"What do you think he'll come at me with?"

Sam purses his lips as he studies Simon. "Rookie angle, to start. How you're replacing a long-running member of the team. How you're not quite fitting in – because the team is like a family and you're feeling like the outsider. How maybe you feel we're reserved. Do you think we miss Jules? Do you think we wish you were her instead?"

"Don't hold back. By all means." Simon's knuckles whiten as his hands clutch his knees. His lips press in a flat line, curling under and his jaw clenches, the muscle working visibly beneath the olive skin.

"He'll beat at you over the Hutchinson case. Because it didn't go the way we wanted it. He'll peg your gun range scores – how you're lagging behind the rest of the Team."

Silence.

"I'm telling you so you're ready." Sam slaps a hand on his back, the muscles tensed like rock beneath his friendly clap. "The important thing to know is that Toth's nothing but a steaming pile of shit. He's a jackass. His goal is to tear you down. He thinks he's doing you're a favour – convinces himself of it."

Simon solemnly nods but Sam knows the kid is shaken. He looks pretty damn unconvinced. Sam knows he's rubbish with words. It's why he's usually the team's last pick for negotiator – why he struggles to connect. It's why Sam holds the honour of being the slowest SRU officer to pass the negotiating basics challenge by a fat margin. Given the choice, he'd always leave this kind of thing to Greg, whose carefully sculpted turns of phrase put people at ease. But he doesn't want to leave Simon hanging.

"Toth doesn't see. " Sam lowers his voice, eyes darting back towards the door. "That's why he's wrong about this team – why he'll be wrong about you. He doesn't get the whole picture. He's the kind of guy who sees something beautiful – something perfect and wonderful – and will search for its flaw. He focused so hard on finding something wrong that he misses everything that's right. He chips away until all you see is the ugly. Just the imperfect."

"So?" Simon asked slowly.

"So don't lose sight of what's important. He wants you to focus on the flaws. Don't. You'll drive yourself insane. Nobody's perfect. We're all just doing what we can. And we do a hell of a job. You've come a long way. Don't let him back you in a corner. You're one of us. If he tells you differently, he's a liar as well as a dick.

The sound of footsteps reverberates through the waiting room, the sharp clip of Toth's polished dress shoes over the floor. The door slides up. And for the first time, he meets Sam's eyes, blue on blue. It's a contest. Who will look away first. Sam sinks back an inch, arms folding defensively across his chest, but he holds Toth's stare. Finally the other man breaks, nods to Sam's teammate to follow before disappearing back into the glass hull.

"Sam? Thanks." Simon mutters, rising on unsteady legs

"Not a problem buddy."

Simon steels himself, back snapping straight as he marches forward. His chin's set stubbornly high, eyes flint with resistance. The kid'll hold his own, Sam was sure.

The doors crank shut behind Simon, frosted panes shuddering as they lower to the ground. He disappears behind those glass shudders, another victim into the pearly teeth of the dragon.

And Sam is alone, all alone, once again.

* * *

><p>Minutes drag on. Sam sits, unmoving, on the bench. <em>Slow it down, Sam. Sniper breathing. <em>In through the nose, out through the mouth. Low. Slow. Steady. Control the heart rate. He sits, tensed, perched on the edge of the steel bench, until his muscles cramp with strain. _Gotta relax. Gotta breath._

Sam runs his tongue over his teeth, purses his lips in concentration.

_Pull it together, man._

Finally, the door seizes, jerking upwards again. He can make out the furious and hurried footsteps of Simon, the faint image of polished combat boots scrambling across the black tiled floors as his colleague makes his hasty exit. The dissatisfied grimace of the silver-haired Toth as he advances.

"Sam."

"Saved the best for last?" He asks, lightly, rising to his feet and brushing his hands, slick with sweat, against the sides of his coolpants. Casually, he hopes, like a physical and impatient man forced to wait hours for some pesky and irksome appointment, he stalks past the doctor. He nods at Sarge and, rolling his eyes, drops into the vacant seat.

"Why do you say that?" Toth's voice is like acid to Sam's ears. He hates the man. Hates everything he is – everything he stands for. He hates the way the man can casually dissect his life, his dreams, his family without regrets, remorse or even hesitation. Toth's tone is cold, frigid like his disappointed fathers, another military man directing his choices. Just another thing to hate.

"Figure you were working your way up to the grand prize." Sam smirks, wiggling his fingers as he sets his hands, palms down, on the steel table. "Hook me up, doc."

The doc cocks an eyebrow as he sets about his work. Monitoring buds are taped in place, wires are wrapped and adjusted. He's rigged like a marionette, life in the balance.

"Why do you consider yourself the grand prize, Sam?" Toth asks, slipping a hard plastic clip onto his index finger. It pinches the skin, reddens it, a marked contrast to its stark medical white. It reminds Sam of the heart monitors they'd strapped to Jules after she was shot. The medical tabs they stuck to her body, her hands and fingers, to track her vitals.

"I don't. But you might. Former JTF2 sniper, embroiled with friendly fire incident, brandishing the silver spoon he was born with, clears way to the SRU? Dead sister, PTSD, control issues, Daddy syndrome. I'm the psychological mother load. I'm the shit you mind-freaks dream of when you turn on your white noise machine and tuck yourself in bed at night." Sam sneers. He sees Sarge wrinkle his brow, confusion flash in those brown eyes. _Don't blow it for me, Greg. Don't blow it. Play along._

"Want me to establish a baseline? Three truths and a lie?" Sam asked, leaning back in the chair. "Middle name is Arthur. 34 years old. I hate cauliflower. And I think what you do is worthwhile."

"I take it you think I'm responsible for the changes tor your team." Toth's smile is small and vicious, slashing across that cold face.

"The way I see it, since your visit we've said goodbye to two damned fine cops. We're losing them faster than we can train them." From the corner of his eye, Sam sees Sarge's eyes widen, lips pursed. "We gonna get on with this? You wanna word associate me or are we just gonna dive right in? I'm a little low on patience."

"All right. If you insist. One of the officers your team had to replace was officer Julianna Callaghan with whom you shared an intimate relationship. How does that make you feel?"

"Not great." Sam answered, lifting a single shoulder, let it drop. Greg was looking at him like he'd lost his damned mind. Thankfully Toth was too busy surveying his response, looking at the damned monitors and readouts, to notice. "Not great" wasn't the truth – it was nowhere near the truth. He was fucking miserable. Angry. Hurt. He missed her every minute. He missed his partner, riding alongside him. He missed her quick observations. Her determination. He missed her sardonic wit and her flash of a smile. He missed waking up to her, arms and legs tangled. They couldn't get close enough in their sleep.

"Is that all?" Toth asked, leaning forward across the table.

"Yeah. She was a teammate and a friend." He gritted his teeth. _Sniper breathing. Slow the heart._ "It hurts when they leave you. It hurt everyone here."

"But you two had been romantically involved."

"Sure. Once upon a time. But that's over." He could feel his heartbeat spike, feel it drum against his throat. He forced himself to inhale, slowly. Exhale slower. The beat dropped back to normal. He anticipated this.

"Do you still have feelings for her?"

_Sniper breathing. Remember your sniper breathing._

"Sure. Until the day I die. But she's gone now. That's what you wanted, wasn't it, Toth? You thought we should be split up. Well we are now. I'm still here, I'm doing my duty. No distractions." Sam's smile felt more like a grimace. He spread his hands against the steel. This was what he'd bee preparing for all along.

"When I left last time I said that if _anything_ happened there, you'd both be remanded. Parker would lose his position. I don't break my word – I meant it then. I still mean it now. I'm going to have to know everything." Sam feels a flare of surprise. He doesn't look at his Sarge – couldn't. Not knowing how much he'd staked on them. Not knowing how much they'd let him down.

Toth flips through his notes, scanning familiar handwriting. "You went to see her before she left, correct?"

Sam slides his eyes over to his frowning sergeant. "Yeah. If she was going to quit, I wanted to hear it from her. If she wanted to quit, fine. But I wanted to make sure she was leaving for herself. Not because some vulture like you was making threats, leaving her cracking under the pressure. I wanted to help."

"Did she give you a reason?" Toth persists.

"She said her mind was made up. She said she'd been thinking – she said her priorities were changing. She said she wanted something more than the SRU." She wanted him. The baby. _Breath, Sam, breath. Control the heart._

"What was it she wanted?"

"Maybe you should ask her." Sam smirks, crossing his arms defensively across his chest.

"I'm asking you, Sam." Toth replies impatiently.

Sam pauses, rolls his eyes. He shifts. He glances over at the Sarge. Their eyes connect. Sam caught the spark of understanding in Parker's. Sees the tensed muscle near those pursed lips slacken and then, like a mask, disappear behind the emotionless shield. He gives the slightest nod of his head, urging Sam on. He knows what it would look like to Toth: a friend struggling with whether to tell the big bad Doctor his former lovers' secrets. Whether to break trust or hold it back in.

"Family. She said she wanted to focus on having a family."

"Hm. Interesting. Had she been seeing anyone?" He asks.

"She dated a paramedic last year. He was from Medicine Hat too." _Not untrue_. Sam reminds himself. She had flirted with Steve. He just wasn't the guy who'd gotten her pregnant. "Gotta say, Doc, if you wanna know about her love life, you're talking to the wrong person."

"We weren't able to reach Julianna Callaghan at this time."

"_Right_." Sam sneers.

"Do you know where she is Sam?" Toth leans forward.

"Nope."

"You haven't been in contact with her since she's left? If I check your phone's history I won't find any suspicious calls or texts?"

"She bailed and I ain't heard jack shit from her since. Rather inconsiderate, all factors considered, but she wanted a clean break. You do this job you kind of lose a part of who you are. If she's off the grid, I imagine she's trying to reconnect with that. Trying to remember who she was before the job. That's just how it is." Sam shrugs. Greg, plays along, nodded slowly. His mouth twitches in a smile.

Toth nods slowly, adds an annotation to that long sheet of notes. Slowly he pours over the readouts, tracing each line along its meandering line. Noting spikes. Sam's chest is on fire and he realizes he's forgotten breathing entirely. Comes down to this moment – this man.

"We did everything you asked, Toth. You told Parker to get tough on us, he did. Wordy got his diagnosis. You told him to come down on Jules and me – separate us. She's gone now. Parker's back on top of his game – no second guessing. You got everything you came for." Sam says quietly.

Toth glances up from his charts, expression unreadable.

"Our rates are good. We're damned good. Even training two rooks, we've got the best stats of all the teams. Simon's slipping into negotiation. His scores are on the rise. Raf's a natural. We don't need you anymore Toth. Team's perfect. You can end this now, or you can string us along another four months. But we both know your mission here is done."

"Are you negotiating me?" Toth asks, surprised.

"No. I'm just telling you the truth."

For a minute nobody spoke, the silence impenetrable. Finally Toth jerks to his feet. He unsnaps the wires and tabs, freeing Sam. They chink against the steel table as they fall away.

"You're free to go Constable Braddock."

Sam glances at Parker as he rises, chair scraping against the table as he stood. His stomach jumps nervously and his knees feel like they might wobble beneath him. He strides across the room, back towards the door. He leans heavily into the button, and the door comes to life, levering upwards. He glances back at Toth and Parker as he waits for it to rise.

Toth's turned back to his notes. The man lived by notes and transcripts. But Parker's eyes are focused on his, curious and concerned. Sam tries to smile but the effort is weak

He just hopes his charade has paid off.

* * *

><p>"The guy's a smarmy asshole. I can't believe anyone would license that self-righteous scumbag to practice psychology!" Sam can hear the tail end of Simon's rant through the locker room door. It's accompanied by a metal clash, reverberating out into the hallway, likely the result of a boot meeting a locker door. It's loud enough that Sam flinches.<p>

"Sam." Spike launches to his feet from the lockerroom bench. He's the first to spot him. His eyes search Sam's face for any sign. "How was it?"

"Fine." Sam nods. "Just a few questions. Wasn't so bad this time."

"The Boss?" Ed steps forward.

"With Toth right now." Sam drops down onto the bench beside Raf. He hadn't realized how unsteady the interview had made him.

"Guess all we can do is wait." Spike grimaces.

Sam watches his team. Spike paces, nervous energy pumping out as he carves a straight line across the locker room floor. Back. Forth. Back again. He's like the arm of a compass – can only wander so far before swinging back around. Raf broods quietly. He clutches the metal slats of the on either side, hands whitened at the knuckles from his iron grip. Simon fumes. Sam can see the anger radiating off him in waves. Ed looms above them, their own personal gargoyle, angrily guarding his keep.

There they were, a motley gaggle somehow fashioned in a rag-tag family waiting their final member – their leader and sticking point. For Greg to come and tell them it was all going to be okay.

What would Jules have done, Sam wonders, where would she fit in? He glances over his shoulder at the now vacant girls' locker room. With Donna gone and Jules resigned it sat, an empty reminder of the toll of the job. She'd toy with her necklace, swinging that charm around on the chain, turning it end over end, as she did when she was nervous. She'd tap long and unpainted fingernails against her hip. She'd worry her lip, biting it until it reddened.

His heart clenches in his chest. God how he misses her.

Soon, he promises himself. He'd done his best.

Raf hears it first. The low sounds of footsteps. His head shoots up and he surges to his feet. Spike scrambles towards them and Ed pushes off the metal locker to flank their crew. The steps grow louder. And Sam's heart starts racing. No spiper breathing no. No calm exhalations, no trying to control his heartrate. Adrenalin pulses.

Sam licks his lips nervously. He can scarcely hear the sound of Greg's boots over the pounding in his head.

For a minute, Greg's face is unreadable. He stands in the door silhouetted against the yellow light of the hallway, emotionless. They wait with baited breath. One moment drags into two and then three.

"We clear boss?" Ed asks.

"Yeah." And just like that Greg's face cracks in a grin. "Toth's done with us. Probation period is over."

Fists pump into the air, voices holler, backs are slapped. No more worriedly glancing over their shoulders, no more shadows lurking behind them waiting for them to falter. They're in the clear now.


	4. My Baby You'll Be

_Hi guys - thanks for being so patient with me. This chapter was being a jerk and being generally difficult. School, as usual, has dominated my life making it harder to write than expected. I can't express how much I appreciate everyone's responses - the review and alerts in my inbox were definitely some solid motivation to get back at it. I will warn you, it's _long_. Very. Very. Long._

_This is the last chapter. I hope you've enjoyed the journey as much as I have and thanks for coming along for the ride._

* * *

><p>"You guys go ahead. I gotta make a call." Sam's grin feels forced. Somehow he thought that, with Toth behind him, the worst would be over. But that just simply isn't true. However terrified he'd been that Toth would blow his cover, that fear was puny and pathetic in comparison to the possibility that his team wouldn't forgive him. He's deceived them. He's lied. He's put their jobs and reputations on the line and, Toth would say, even their lives. They scared him more than Toth ever could simply because he needed and loved them like brothers. So his smile was shaky as he made his excuses.<p>

"You want me to order you a beer, Samtastic?" Spike asks, slapping him on the back. "Your usual? Mill Street?"

"Sure. That'd be great." He nods. The others are just happy. They've been cleared for duty, the looming black raincloud of Toth forever banished from the horizon. They disappear into the mouth of the pub. It's early yet, probably too early to be drinking, but they've plenty of reason to celebrate.

Only Sarge remains. He holds back, lingers behind the others until the door drifts shut behind Raf. They stand in silence for a moment, like strangers at a tight pass, each waiting for the other to move.

Sam tilts his head back. The night is cold, the lingering edge of winter still hanging in the air. Wind blows against the back of his neck, across his face and down through his unbuttoned jacket.

He's suddenly reminded of the team he lost – the team he left, crumbling in his wake. He'd killed Mattie. Bullet to brainstem. And there simply had been no coming back from that. No way to rebuild trust. So he'd left. He thought it had been an act of mercy. A way to let them distance themselves from his sin. Let them cleanse themselves of the blood on his hands. Without him, they should have been fine. They should've been able to pull together, grit their teeth and push through the loss. He'd been the liability. A sniper they couldn't trust. He'd walked away, a fragment of his former self, so the unit could stay whole. Turns out, it couldn't. Because Gordie copped shrapnel to the legs and an honorable discharge and Dave Haverlick had turned his service pistol on himself. They'd never been safe, never good or whole again. That had ended with him.

"Sam. We need to talk about what happened today, with Toth. And why you're lying about Jules. There's something going on there." Greg rocks back on his heels, shoving his fists into his pockets.

"I know," Sam responds, heart heavy in his chest. He supresses the urge to shuffle his feet like a guilty child being scolded by their parent over sins committed.

"Your answers were evasive. You used sniper techniques to lower your heart rate." Parker's voice is quiet, void of emotion. Unreadable.

"Yeah," Sam admits.

"You masked your response to his questions by answering them before he even asked them. You tacked them onto questions he already anticipated stress reactions from. You started the interview off on the attack – so he'd read any strange signs as your hatred for him. Not your fear of being caught in a lie."

Greg waits. Maybe he expects him to deny it – but he can't. "I did."

"Why?" The question is so softly asked Sam can hardly hear it. There's no malice behind it. No anger or outrage. Just a question. One simple word.

"It's complicated." It's not. It's really, _really, _not. He snuck behind SRU policy and Parker's back to see Jules. They weren't careful enough. She got pregnant. And instead of letting the team get screwed for their mistake, Sam had stuck around to take the fall. Keep the appearance of normalcy. Like they hadn't broken protocol and regulation and their leaders' trust in them. Like the relationship between them had never existed. No baby forever bonding them.

"Can't be that complicated," Greg replies. It's almost like he can read his mind.

Sam sighs. "I'll explain it all. Inside. I owe it to the others too."

Greg nods slowly. He reaches for the door. Hand poised above the handle he finally raises the burning question. "Do you know where she is?"

Sam licks his lips.

"Don't lie to me Sam," Greg warns him. "You know I've been trying to reach her. We're worried about her."

"I don't know. I swear to you. I don't." Sam shakes his head furiously. "She wouldn't tell me. She said it was best if I didn't know. If Toth asked it was just one less lie I'd have to tell."

"Okay. Then I'll see you inside." He shoved open the door. The bar seems to pulse with heat and energy. He can hear Spike's excited voice pitch as it does when he gets engrossed in one of his stories. Parker's mouth crooks in a grin. "Better be quick. Looks like they're starting without us." With that he disappeared inside, leaving Sam alone on the concrete stoop.

He doesn't hesitate a moment. He flips open his phone, heart pitching, and with frozen fingers types in the ten number code. He presses it to his ear, listens to the ring. Each trill sounds more urgent, more irritatingly shrill than the last. And finally the automated voice telling him that nobody was there to take his call followed by the abrupt buzzer.

He doesn't leave his name, as the machine suggested, or a callback number. Instead he only says, "Come home now. It's done."

* * *

><p>For a while he pretends like nothing is wrong. He's not sure why. He's always been the guy that leaps first. The kid who yanks the band aid off. Nat would baby it along, tongue between her teeth, adhesive gumming to the skin. Prolonging the sting and leaving grey residue on reddened skin. Not him, though. He liked it fast, quick. It was painless that way – or nearly anyway. So he can't quite figure out how an hour has passed and how he is on his second beer.<p>

He wonders if she's got the message yet. He wonders if she's packing right now. He'd like to think she is. Maybe back in Medicine Hat in the bedroom she's had since she was nine years old. Or maybe a one-bedroom apartment overlooking the snow-capped Mont Royal. One of those insanely-cheerfully coloured clapboard houses along the harbor in St. John's. She could be anywhere – but she's coming home now.

He tries to picture her shoving shoes and shirts and underwear and socks into that plain grey suitcase, the one he carried out to her jeep not two months before. Cramming those stupid panda slippers into the outside pocket. Warring with the zipper until it finally gives and yanks closed with a groan.

He smirks – because it's ridiculous. Jules is worryingly and obsessively tidy. It's one of the stupid things they'd fight about. Her shirts were folded neatly and angularly, arranged by colour and order of preference in perfectly symmetrical rows. When he cajoled her into clearing out a drawer, his things were jumbled, no scheme or organization. Just knots of wrinkled fabric and faded colour. Her shoes are neatly lined up at the door. His are scattered, toppled where he toed them off. He never remembers to cap the toothpaste.

She was the kind of person who probably packed with a list, methodically checking off each item as it goes in the bag. Folding each piece before slipping it into place. No rushing and cramming for Julianna Callaghan.

Sarge is watching him like a hawk. He's waiting. He's not pushing. There's plenty of time yet.

For now Sam's okay sitting at the round table listening to Spike recount a crank call and an overly amorous tabby. For a little while longer, this is his family. He's not sure where he'll stand with them – what they'll say when they find out. He's not sure if he'll be a good father. He's doesn't know much about anything. But he knows he loves his team. And for a few minutes longer, it's all okay.

"Did I hear correctly? Team One's off probation?" A familiar voice rings out, calling over the din of the pub.

"Wordy!" Spike bolts to his feet with surprisingly agility considering he's already hitting his fourth bottle. He yanks Wordy into a sloppy headlock, knuckling his fist against Wordy's cropped hair. There are backslaps, introductions and cutting remarks about Toth, the gutless dick. It's surprisingly normal given the mishmash of old and new.

"Pull up a chair," Greg orders. Ed's already hooked an empty chair from the vacant table beside them.

"I got Sam's message. Thought I'd drop by to extend my congratulations." Wordy grins. "Can't say Toth's my favourite person. Must be pretty happy to see the back of him."

"Say that again," Raf mutters grimly into his lager.

"Be glad you only had to brave the ornery bastard the once." Ed laughs as Wordy dropped into his seat. He nodded to the barkeep, signaling for another beer. The man reached for the Harp tap automatically, filling the pint glass. "Will you look at that? Still remembers your favourite."

"So that's who you called?" Greg turns eagle eyes on Sam.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. One of them."

"Who was the other?" Simon asks, off-handedly.

"Jules."

Spike's hand, lifting his beer to his lips for a pull, stops mid-air. Wordy's eyebrows shoot up, forehead crinkling like an old hound dog. Ed leans forward, and Sam prepares himself for the onslaught of questions. But the waitress, bubbly and bright, bounds up, Harp beer balancing delicately on the round tray and the men fall silent. She sets it down with a flourish and disappeared, on to the next table and new orders.

Nobody speaks.

They never talk about her – not really. Not what she'd done or where she'd gone. The others had searched for her. He knew that Spike and Raf and Ed had shown up after shift the day she'd left, banging on her door, hoping she was still there. They thought that maybe they could get her to change her mind. He knew the others had felt abandoned and hurt, betrayed, left hanging by a teammate who didn't even have the courage to say goodbye. No reason. No rationale. Just a vacant place where a friend used to be a rookie roster to pick her replacement.

They are so careful never to even say her name in front of him. It makes him wonder if maybe they already knew – recognize that somehow, as important as she was to them, she is something more to him. Maybe they knew that her leaving should've hurt him the most.

"Her cell was disconnected." Spike's voice is low. It reverberates with warning. Danger, it says. You're approaching that thin little line. Reaching the zone of no-return – turn back now.

"Yeah. I left her a message on her house line. She said she'd check it every day." Sam's throat is dry. He thinks about taking another sip of beer – to ease the words that are bubbling up inside him. To smooth out the lump in his chest and the burning in his throat.

"Every day," Greg repeats. His head tilts to one side as he surveys Sam, eyes searching for some sort of clue. Some sign of what's coming.

The accusation burrows in his head. He had some way of getting a hold of her and he hoarded it to himself. He had information the others' didn't and had chosen to leave them floundering in the dark – wondering what had gone wrong.

"I, uhm, I've been keeping some things from you guys. Some pretty big things, actually. I've been lying to you and it's time I was straight with you all. I figure I owe you guys that. I need you to hear me out."

His team looks shell-shocked, frozen, statue-still, around the table.

"How big is this, Sam?" Greg asks.

"Pretty big." Sam presses his lips together. "After Toth last summer Jules and I started seeing each other." He forced it out, words riding on a single breath.

"Jesus Christ," Ed swears slapping a hand against the table. "For fuck's sake Sam. Can't you keep it in your pants for once? What the hell did you do to her."

"Ed." Greg's soft voice cuts Ed's tirade short.

"It's not like that. We never wanted to hurt anyone."

"What _is_ it like then?" Spike asks. His arms lock over his chest, folding in their defensive positions.

Sam wonders how he can explain it to them when he can't explain it to himself. He's not sure why he loves her. It happened so slowly. He couldn't pinpoint any one moment it had happened. No pivotal event that had him sliding head first into love with her. But he'd known, even before she'd nearly died on that rooftop, sniper bullet t the chest, that he had. Desperately pressing his palm to the Kevlar vest in a desperate attempt to staunch the blood, he'd thought if she died than most of him would have too.

"You're in love with her." It's Simon, of course, observant sharp-eyed Simon.

"Yeah," Sam admits. "It's always been Jules for me. She's just always been it. It's strange. Team One gave me purpose. I was heading for some pretty dark places and this job pulled me back around. It kept me going on some bad days. I needed this team. It's also the one thing I couldn't get around. Without Team One I'd have never even met her. But because of it I could never really be with her."

Nobody says anything. He can feel his words hang in the air. They linger in the din of the bar, like the heavy, still air before a wicked summer storm rolls in, pounding the city with rain, shaking it with claps of thunder.

"I never thought it would happen like this. If I could have met her at any other time – if I could have been any person other than me when I did – I would." Sam sighs. A night doesn't go past that he does lie, counting breaths and waiting for sleep to come, that he doesn't wish that she'd swaggered into his life some other way. Gun drawn and trained on his heart, she'd slammed into him. He hadn't been able to find solid footing since.

He glanced around the table, each set of eyes trained on him. Shock, anger, fear, confusion. His team was easy to read. "I don't know why it had to be her but I can't change it. I'm sorry if that makes you angry. I'm sorry if you guys feel like I let you down."

"So what happened?" Wordy asks "Why's she gone now?"

Sam frowns down at his half-empty beer. It's growing warmer by the second. The other half is curdling in his belly, swishing angrily as his stomach yanks itself in worried knots. He's fairly certain they won't like the truth – the idea that Sam knocked her up and walked away. He needs this one last image of his team to savour. The way that Greg's hand has subconsciously crept across the table closer to him. Ready to comfort or protect. He's ready to intervene and defend him – because he's their leader and guide. He memorizes the contemplative set to Wordy's brow and Simon's sympathetic nod.

"Sam?" Greg prods.

"We weren't careful enough. Jules got pregnant." There it is – the deadly bombshell he's been harbouring for months.

At first, they are silent. All the noises of the pub seem massively magnified. The chink of a bottle on the wood surface of the bar, a high peel of flirtacious laughter as the blonde waitress works her customers, the clank of the bell over the door as more patrons stomp in.

He wishes somebody would say something – anything.

"Pregnant." Greg repeats, the word clumsy on his tongue, like some foreign syllable on his lips.

"Yes."

"You knew." It's not a question. "Before she left – she told you."

"Yes."

"And then you let her walk away."

And he hates himself for it. "Yes."

"You say you love her, but you're going to abandon her like that? When she needs you, you just walk away." Ed accuses him, breath hissing through tightly clenched teeth.

"Hey. Hey, she's the one that left, man." Raf interjects.

Ed ignores him, slamming a fist down onto the table. Bottles jump and amber liquid sloshes over the side of wobbling glasses. Ed doesn't take his eyes off Sam though. They're burning hot, pinpricks of icy anger. "So? Whoops, here comes baby and you just let her take off? When are you going to start acting like a man? When were you planning on taking goddamned responsibility?"

Sam steels himself, spine stiff and shoulders squared, tactics learned from a lifetime of angry barrages on duty and honor courtesy of his father. He owes them that.

"Why did you let her leave?" It's Wordy's question that halts Ed's tirade more than anything else. "You love her. She's pregnant. And you let her leave. That's not you Sam."

"Why?" He repeated dumbly. He'd expected their outrage and anger. He hadn't anticipated, however, the quiet understanding.

"I guess… we had to. Toth was watching. We knew if he figured it out you'd all get screwed over for the choices Jules and I made. When we set out we never meant to hurt anyone – we didn't want to get you guys involved in anything. We didn't realize how much of a risk it was to everyone's future. If Toth found out he'd have thought you were helping keep it from him. He'd have come down on you with everything he had. There'd be no more team one. He'd have suspended the Sarge, he'd have disbanded the unit. We wanted to protect you guys from that."

"Why didn't you leave with her?"

"It would have looked suspicious. And leaving you two men short handed would be dangerous. Unfair."

"How far along is she?"

"About twenty weeks. Give of take." Sam leans back in his chair, fishing his wallet of his pocket. He flips open the worn leather and, with numb fingers, pulls out the sonogram picture. White corners curl inwards, no doubt from being shoved back into its secret hiding place so many times. Just a tiny grey bubble in a sea of black fuzz. "It was a little early to tell but the doctor said she was about seven weeks. Been gone three months now."

"Holy crap," Spike murmured, staring down in awe. He'd seen them before. He had sisters and, now, nephews and nieces. But this was Jules. It seemed somehow different. Somehow strange. He tried to envision Jules five months pregnant but all he conjure up is the memory of her jumping through a skylight beside him, plated in ten pounds of Kevlar. He just can't.

"Jules and I had hoped that her leaving might speed up Toth's timeline. Lots of changes in a year, lots to deal with. Figured he might sense the opportunity to pounce. I was starting to get a little desperate," Sam admits, lifts a hand and running it through his hair. He's surprised to find that it's shaking.

"That's why you were so evasive in your interview," Greg reasons.

"Yeah. If he saw that we were back on track, I hoped he might end probation. Without him breathing down our necks I figured things would be okay. Ending supervision means no more poking into our personal lives. With Toth gone we could figure things out." He lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

"What do you mean, figure things out?" Raf frowns.

"I've got my resignation papers back at my apartment. I'm turning them in tomorrow." Sam held back a grimace – barely – at the word resignation.

"No," Greg says immediately, fiercely.

"I lied to each and every one of you. I put your jobs on the line and I don't deserve to be on this team."

"Sam," Greg protests.

Sam shakes a head, cutting him off. "No, it's true. You guys need somebody who will be as loyal to you as you are to them. You need to be able to trust your partners. I don't know any of you could trust me again."

"That's bullshit, Sam," Spike retorts. "That is absolute fucking bullshit."

"I'm sorry." His chest is knotted so each breath hurts. He tells himself he's said goodbye to teams before. He left the 51st division for JTF2, turned in his camo for coolpants five years later. He can do it again. But the twist in his gut says that this time might be different.

"You're missing the point, Sam," Ed, quiet since his outburst, says. He leans across the table until Sam is forced to meet his eyes. "I do trust you. Every time we go through those doors, I've put my life in your hands. You put yours in mine. And every time we come out together. We're a unit. That's what we do. Yeah, you lied. And yeah, I'm mad. But the only think I wouldn't be able to forgive you for, is if you turn those papers in tomorrow."

Sam hesitates.

"We're your team. And we still need you." Greg adds quietly.

"I thought you'd want me gone." Sam frowns. He rubs the back of his hand over his mouth, trying to quell the queasy feeling rising in stomach. He'd been so sure of it

Greg grins, leaning back in his chair, a triumphant king at his table of knights. "Team?"

"Stay." Raf answers immediately. He tilted his forgotten, warmed beer in salute.

"Seconded." Simon adds, lifting his own beer.

Wordy nods slowly. "I don't really get a say here. Can't lie, I'd love for you to join be with the regular folk in Guns and Gangs." He says slowly. Ed's eyes narrow and the table careens as Ed sends him a swift kick beneath the table. "Ed." He says lightly, sending his friend a chastising glance before turning back to Sam. "But the SRU is where you belong, kid."

Ed grins, hoisting his pint. "Well you know where I stand. Spike?"

Scarlatti smirks. "But you look so good in the coolpants, Samtastic." He drawled, adding his own beer to the others'.

"All right. It's settled." Greg smiles, lifting his water glass. It chinks harmlessly off of Ed's. Sam meets his gaze over the raised glasses. He seems understanding and pride reflected back at him.

He sighs and hefts his own bottle. "Looks like we're all"

"Mandy?" Ed signals the waitress, grinning madly. "Sam here is gonna be having a baby. Lets get the table another round on the expectant daddy."

* * *

><p>Sam's not sure how much he tipped the cabbie, but from the look on the man's expression, he'd likely being too generous. He usually had a mind for numbers, but tonight that logical side was being out-screamed by the gallon of beer swishing in his belly. It's his fault for not saying no, he supposes. They'd insisted on a round to celebrate. And then another. And then another. And another.<p>

Shock worn off, damned if they hadn't taken to the idea. Ed seemed almost delighted, recounting nights of squalling babies, spit up and, naturally, the most terrifying and helpless moments in any man's life: labour. He'd recounted it, with nodding agreement by Wordy, like vets retell the landing on Juno Beach. It sounded like a veritable march through the valley of death. It sounds horrifying and Sam can't help but hope that Jules is some kind of super-human who'll breeze through it with the same effortless she does everything else in life.

_Take care of our girl_. Greg had muttered in his ear, pulling him into a gruff hug before they left the bar.

He probably wasn't their first choice for Julianna. Probably wouldn't even round out the top five. But like it or not, he was there for the long run.

With fumbling fingers he slipped his key into the lock. It gave way easily and he stumbled through the door. Leaning heavily against the wall, he pried off his boots with numbed fingers.

She wasn't home. He knew that. The lights were off through the whole house. But it was more than that. Even through the alcohol, the disappointment was sharp. He stumbled up the stairs to the bedroom they'd shared.

It didn't smell like her anymore. She'd been gone too long. It's musty, a room closed off too long. He yanks open the window. It shudders, unused to such abuse, and cold air flits through. She liked to crack the windows open when it rained – just a sliver. Enough so that the sound of the drumming rain hummed and the fresh scent of fall rolled in. He'd lie there, not moving or speaking, pretending to be asleep. She'd worm out from under his arm and ease her way across the still creaky floorboards to the window. She'd curl back up against him when she crawled back under the covers and they'd make love to the sound of the rain against the window.

He wonders how things have changed – how they _will _change. What if her time alone has made Jules want to make a go of parenting by herself. No need for him anymore. He wonders how much he has missed. He follows a chart on his computer at home. It shows how big the baby is – what's developing each week. It's bookmarked innocuously as 'Bathroom Renovation' in case Natalie gets a little nosy in her internet browsing. It's not the same though.

He wishes he could have been there the morning her jeans didn't snap any more. He could have been there, holding back her hair through bouts of awful morning sickness. Buy her some goddamned ice cream. He wished he'd gotten to do the things that most expectant dads got to.

Soon, he assures himself, turning to her side of the bed. He buries his face in the pillow. It's a poor substitute for her, but it's no matter. The alcohol takes affect, his eyelids slam shut and he's drifting off to sleep in seconds.

She finds him there hours later, sprawled across the mattress. He sleeps like the dead after a few beers. Normally he'll wake at the slightest jarring. She thinks maybe it's from his time in Afghanistan – having to be alert and ready to roll out at a moments notice. But after a few lagers, he's down for the count.

She remembers one night sneaking away from the Goose with him. He'd pretended he was walking home – he didn't live far, not more than a few blocks. She'd had the cab circle around and pick him up two blocks away. At her house, inhibitions loosened, they'd curled together, skin against skin, her back to his front. He'd pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. And eventually he'd fallen asleep, breath fanning across her shoulder. There was something scary – something intimate – in sharing a bed, not for sex, but just for sleeping. They'd never discussed it but something had shifted that night. Jules supposed it was the night she realized there was no walking away from this. Sam Braddock couldn't be just a fling for her.

She smiles as she pulls the comforter, knotted and shoved by Sam's restless turning, up over him. She sits down on the bed and the mattress bows beneath her weight. Sam stirs, hand stretching across the bed into the dip where she used to lie searching for her hand. He's still sleeping. She supposes it's an ingrained habit.

She curls onto her side, hand shifting instinctively over her stomach. It was strange to see how her body has changed. Stranger yet, to feel those changes happening deep inside her. It feels powerful and wonderful having this life growing there.

She reaches for his hand. In his sleep he threads his fingers through hers, locking them together. One hand wrapped in his, the other over her belly, Jules's heavy eyelids shut and she drops into sleep beside him.

* * *

><p>Coming awake, Sam felt like he was sliding through silk. Wrapped up in their bed, with the sunlight creeping across the floor, his fingers twined with hers. The mattress dips beneath bodies and her hair brushes his cheek. He's dreaming, he's sure, as he struggles to the surface.<p>

But, no, she's there, as real as he is.

"Jules?" His voice is rasped with sleep. She stirs, brown eyes lifting to his own. Her hand jerks instinctively in his but he can't let go.

"Hey." She whispers back. She's glowing – he's sure of it. The dark and puffed skin under her eyes is clear now. Sleeping regular hours – no more temperamental shift work – had certainly agreed with her. His fingers burn – he can't control the urge to touch. He reaches up with his hand, cupping her chin in his calloused palm.

"Sam." She murmurs. But his lips press against hers and all words are lost. It's overwhelming. Thinking about her all these months can't compare to the reality of having her back. He trails quick kisses along her jaw, back to that pretty mouth. She sinks into the kiss completely. Everything else is gone, for that second. No worries, no plans, no fears. Just them, here, in that bed together. Just them.

"Missed you," He tells her, words whispered into her ear.

"You too," She replies. Her hands frame his face, the stubble of a day-old shave tickling her palms. It feels good to be able to see him, smell him, feel his skin beneath her hands. The ache for him had been so painful and clear the months she'd been gone. She ran her fingers down her throat to rest over his heart. It dances beneath her palm. He nuzzles the back of her fingers, presses a kiss to her calloused hand.

"Is everything okay?" He asks. He has a million questions. Did she have morning sickness? Had she had more ultrasounds? Had she been taking vitamins? What did the doctors say? Had she felt the baby kick yet?

"We're fine." Jules assured him. "Did you, uhm, did you tell them?" She asks tentatively. Her brows knit together as she watches him owlishly, waiting his response.

"They needed to know. They deserved it."

"Were they mad?" Her voice is tiny – small and afraid. He knows how real that fear is. He'd been terrified of their anger or, worse, their rejection. They were more than his unit. They were family. In the end, family forgives.

"A little. But they're coming around. They didn't like what we did but I think they understand why. I told them I'd resign but they wouldn't have it. Sarge gave me his blessing, in his own special way." He shoots her a wicked grin.

She presses her eyes shut in relief. The baby, sensing the swift kick of emotion, stirs and she presses her hand instinctively to her belly to sooth and calm.

He glances down, eyes drawn her to belly. It's obscured by the quilt, hidden beneath layers of fabric. She wonders what he'll think. Her body has changed in a million massive and tiny ways. She's not ashamed, she'd told herself a million times. It was totally normal. Pregnant women gain weight. Stomachs grow, boobs balloon, calves swell. Asses reach the same approximate mass as a small beluga whale. It was completely natural. And, she'd reasoned; if he'd had any cause for complaint, screw him. She was goddamned pregnant.

He pulls back at the blanket slowly, inch by painfully slow inch. She forces herself not to catch the corner and yank it back up, a protective shield against his sharp eyes.

Her t-shirt is stretched tight across her stomach. He recognizes it as one she used to sleep in before the pregnancy. It used to bag, just long enough to cover the tops of her thighs. Now it was pulled taut across the swell of her belly.

He was awed and reached, instinctive forward. He wants to feel – get that first solid touch. For so long the baby has just been an abstract concept. Something he knew, but couldn't see, couldn't sense, couldn't feel. Not any more.

With gentle hands he lifts the hem of her shirt. He hears her breath catch and looks up, but she's focused intently on his hands. She watches them through lowered lashes. She's nervous, he realizes.

His fingers trail against her stomach as he pushes up the white fabric. It's smooth and soft. Thin near translucent lines streak across her belly; he traces them with a finger. Down over the dark line running over the bump and then back up again. It's beautiful – the most beautiful thing he could possibly imagine. Their baby, created with so much love, is growing there. His heart is throbbing, aching with happiness. His throat's dry as dust and his words tangle on his thick tongue.

"Amazing." He manages. His hands are still wandering the globe of her stomach, traversing the lines like an explorer tracing his route on a map. He can't imagine anything more beautiful than the sight of Jules, belly swollen and full with their baby. The woman he loves and the family they're going to have.

"You're beautiful." He presses his lips to hers again. He lingers over her mouth, sinking into her. Trying to convey what he can't conjure with words "Beautiful."

"Here." Jules covers his hand with hers. He's struck at the difference between them. His hands feel large and clumsy beneath hers, impossibly oafish. She presses his palm firmly to her belly. He tries to pull back – he doesn't want to hurt them – and he feels it. The quickening beneath his hand – the stirring of life inside her.

And again, the faintest of movements. It ripples beneath his hand.

"Say hello to your daughter." Jules murmurs.

"Daughter?" His eyes snap up to hers, blue on brown. "We're having a little girl?" His voice is rasped, faint. Almost like it doesn't belong to him at all.

Jules just nods.

He lowers his her belly and kisses the skin just above her belly button. Jules hand circles to the top of his head. She strokes his hair absently. "Hey there baby girl." His mouth curves in a grin. He can't contain it. He's been waiting so long. "I love you. I don't know what the hell I'm doing here, kid. I'm sorry about that. I don't know how to be a good dad. I'm going to screw up a lot and you're going to have to be patient with me. But you'll never doubt that I love you."

"Sam." Jules voice is thick, emotion straining to find some sort of release. Her hand stop their motions on his head.

"I love your mom too." He grins up at Jules, pressing another kiss to her belly. "You're going to have a lot of people in your life that care about you, know that?"

Jules' bites back tears viciously. This is everything she's wanted. These were the things she'd longed for, lying restlessly in bed these long months without him. Curled up on her side of the too-empty bed, she'd yearned for him. She wanted a family with him.

"I don't know if she knows this yet. But she's going to marry me someday." Sam tells her belly, rubbing the skin in light circles. The baby kicks, as if in agreement.

"Are you asking?" She manages to ask.

"Would you say yes?" He asks. He eases back, until their faces are level once more. Brown eyes on blue, Callaghan on Braddock.

She lowered her brow to rest against his. Nose to nose, cheek to cheek. His breath, quick and hot, feathered across her neck. She felt safe, there. Secure and whole. He was what was missing. He was what she needed.

"There's no place I'd rather be."


End file.
